Hit The Brakes
by Shimegami
Summary: Random drabbles of the 2007 movieverse. Humor, drama, and everything inbetween. Next Up: Ratchet puts the fear of god into Prowl. Remember to drink your energon, kids!
1. Chapter 1

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Hello! Welcome to my collection of random oneshots that don't have substance enough for their own stories, or are just silly ideas that popped into my head. 2007 movieverse, because they made Bumblebee cuter than ever. :D

**Disclaimer:** Obviously not mine. Duuuuur.

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**Parallel Parking**

Afternoon sunlight reflected cheerfully off Bumblebee's disco ball as he drove through downtown Tranquility, a catchy song named "Perfect Day" blasting through his radio. One of the perks of being the robotic car of his human friend meant he didn't have to sit around in parking lots waiting for Sam to finish whatever he was doing.

Well, he did have to wait a few moments to make sure no humans who had watched him pull up and Sam getting out of the driver's side saw him drive off - without his driver. But that was one of the perks of having tinted windows - so long as no one saw him quietly start up by himself and drive off, he was free to roam the roadways while waiting for Sam.

Now, Sam had just texted him, informing the robot that he'd be out within half an hour, and so Bumblebee was headed back to the small movie theater in the middle of town that Sam and Mikaela were fond of. All he had to do was go back and park, waiting for his friends to reappear so he could drive them to their next destination.

But, sadly, Bumblebee's day was about to become slightly more complicated.

The peppy song cut off with a screech as Bumblebee's brakes did the same, and he sat idling in the street, contemplating this problem that stretched before him.

The movie theater's small parking lot was full, the streets lined with cars in the busy bustle of a downtown afternoon. This left only one place for the car-also-robot to park - a gap barely long enough to fit him on the other side of the street.

He revved his engine slightly in annoyance - it would be a tight fit. As it was, he was glad that no others cars were currently behind him - he'd been idling in his lane for about a minute as he pondered the problem.

Slowly, he pulled over and ahead of his chosen spot, stopping as he was even with the car ahead of it. Even more slowly, he backed up, edging his aft to the side and into the space. He had to be careful to not bump the other cars, because then that would cause scratches and dents and humans questioning Sam about how his car had gotten into a fender-bender while he'd been in the theater. Too much hassle.

He noticed he was too close to the front car for his own comfort, focusing all his sensors along his side as he slowly maneuvered into place - he didn't want to scrape along the back fender, yellow paint tended to be easy to pick out on other cars--_**CRUNCH. **_

The sudden noise, pain of his bumper meeting something unforgivably hard, and the flashing of several damage and proximity warnings across his processors startled the young scout, and he cried out, lurching forward out of instinct, to get away from the pain as soon as possible. What a slagging idiot, he'd ignored his back-end completely in his concentration to avoid the front car--_**CRUNCH.**_

Bee froze for a nano-klik, before revving his engines and twisting his steering mechanisms, causing some rather unpleasant noises from both tires and gears. He had to get himself free of this deathtrap between cars, cars which surely had to be Decepticons for luring him into such a trap, probably waiting for him to become too damaged in his attempts to escape the inviting parking spot before taking him out--_**WHUMP.**_

He had just driven himself over the curb - well, his back rear tire, at least.

This day was just getting better and better.

The curb was one of those shifty ones - also clearly of Decepticon origin - that was slightly higher than the ground behind it - a patch of earth that had some decorative flora and a tree, in this case. No matter how hard he pulled, or how hard his tires scrabbled for purchase against the cement with a rather sickening squealing sound of rubber scraping asphalt at unmentionable speeds, his rear tire refused to find its own grip and pull itself over the small bump presented in its path.

This begged the question of how it had gotten over the curb in the first place - a curb that was decidedly higher facing the street than on the side he was caught on - but Bee didn't really care at this point. He was stuck, paintjob ruined on his fenders, with incriminating dents in both of the other cars that had even more incriminating streaks of bright yellow paint flecking the dents. He wasn't dented, his metal being made of far sterner stuff than anything on Earth, but the indignity of the whole situation stung about as bad. The only way it could be worse was if--

"...Bee?"

...Was if Sam and Mikaela were standing on the sidewalk right behind him, staring at him. Bumblebee immediately cut his engine, falling silent and hoping that, for once, his human friends would be as perceptive as he had originally thought humans to be, and wouldn't realize it really was him.

"Bee, what are you doing? Why are you over the curb? Why are there dents in the other cars shaped like your bumper?"

...No such luck. Slag.

Sam took in the situation, and, unfortunately for his giant yellow friend, immediately jumped to the correct conclusion.

"Bee, dude, I think you just failed parallel parking."

The yellow scout sent several disgruntled clicks and beeps towards the humans, who just ignored his anger and his poor dignity and proceeded to laugh themselves silly.

Forcing air through his exhaust vents - the closest he could come to a human sigh - Bee searched the radio waves for anything suitable for his situation. Music filtered through his speakers - not matching with his sentiments, but appropriate given the situation.

_"...-- Parallel parking, stop the traffic, parallel parking, make them swerve, parallel parking, become and addict, parallel parking, stay off the curb..."_

_------_

Song by Fighting Gravity, which I've never heard or anything - just trolling Google for appropriate lyrics to use, rather like Bee. XD

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	2. Chapter 2

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makes a fake drumroll And for this chapter, we're starring introspective, rather angsty Ratchet! Give him a hand, folks!

**Disclaimer:** Obviously not mine. Duuuuur.

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**To Thy Rest  
**

He was brought out of his light recharge by all of his doors being opened at once, urgent human voices shouting instructions. With a mental sigh, Ratchet finished coming out of his recharge, the last of his subroutines booting as he was driven at speed out of the hospital lot, sirens flashing.

Only two months on this planet, and he had become something of a little legend to his chosen hospital's staff. Whispered stories floated around during break times and late-night shifts, almost akin to ghost stories, about the mysterious Unit 27.

The brightly-colored custom Hummer vehicle was, supposedly, said to have mysteriously appeared in an empty space in the ambulance lot during one night, keys invitingly in the ignition, and nothing else out of the ordinary. The staff had been mystified, but after running several checks on the license plate and registration, it apparently really did belong to the hospital, though no one in the higher-up staff could remember placing an order for a new vehicle, much less such a customized one, and there was no financial record to indicate the purchase that surely had to have been made.

The local government, just as mystified, had shrugged their figurative shoulders - the car's papers said it clearly belonged to the hospital, and since no one was filing any sort of "missing ambulance" report, the Hummer was there to stay. And so, with a great deal of confusion, the Hummer was duly added to the roster list.

It helped, of course, that Ratchet had hacked the system and added himself into the files. Saved him a lot of trouble.

Another legend referred to the bright paint job. Though, certainly, Tranquility's few other Hummers of the same search and rescue persuasion were the same color, there was the odd symbol that replaced the normal search and rescue badge in the decals on the doors, one that resembled some sort of stylized, mechanical face. No matter how many times the vehicle was turned over to maintenance for a repaint, the very next day the strange, modified decal would be back to normal. With another collective shrug, the staff accepted this oddity, even if yet another bigwig decided to try their luck repainting it, as if _their_ orders would finally take hold against the strange vehicle.

Lastly, the most obscure rumors, those only spoken of during late hours and far away from prying ears, spoke of the ambulance's strange abilities.

Paramedics who drove Unit 27 had yet to lose a patient, so it was said. Electronical equipment performed at and above its best when inside the vehicle, as if the machines inside the Hummer were as determined to give it their all as the humans.

Warning sirens and alerts would go off seemingly without reason, only to draw attention to a condition of a patient the medics had not spotted previously.

Scanning and monitoring equipment, when attached to a patient or searching for one on one of the few missions the vehicle was designed for, was far more sensitive than in the other vehicles, often picking up such faint signs and signals the humans could barely recognize the difference.

And, lastly, something only a select few had experienced, sometimes, in the heat of a desperate scrabble to save someone's life when they were in terribly critical condition, a voice, deep and low and cultured, would sound above the clamor of monitors and shouting. Soothing, sometimes sharing advice or techniques, but more often just calming down the nerves of the medics, adding a presence of a kindly mentor over-watching his students, a mind of years and experience waiting benevolently in the background. Not taking over, but certainly willing to be fallen back upon.

In those rare times that voice appeared, hands became steadier, nerves calmed, medics that had even decades of experience behind them suddenly feeling as if they were merely back in training again, on their own with the patient, but with someone far more experienced waiting in the wings to step in with a calm word and steady hand to easily fix whatever they could not.

Ratchet, certainly, could not fix humans better than they could themselves - he was a medic for giant robots, not small organic humans. He could not step in and heal what they could not. But he could certainly offer advice and a steady, calming presence that only millennia of practicing medicine could offer.

At times, he felt almost as if he were back on Cybertron again, in the great labs of Iacon, training students in his art, so that one day they, too, could step up and save the lives of many. The small humans were his students, beings he could help guide and nurture to the best of his ability.

It helped ease the pain of the fact that he _wasn't_ on Cybertron anymore - that the great medbays and labs of Iacon had faded away into dust and twisted metal slag.

Unless some sort of miracle happened, like the appearance of a new Allspark or a few femmes, there would be no new medics to train. Ratchet was one of the few true medics left in the universe, and certainly the only one in this sector of the universe. The rest were gone, destroyed, or still out there among the stars, hiding. Hopefully some Autobots with medical persuasion, like Wheeljack or Perceptor, would make it to Earth, but Ratchet had been alive long enough, had been embroiled long enough in their war, that he knew that sometimes it was best to just expect the worst, and just be pleasantly surprised when something good happened. He would not hope for new Autobots - but he certainly would be happy enough if they came.

Otherwise, life would just be a constant source of depression.

The humans driving him suddenly ground to a halt, and Ratchet drew himself out of his processors and once again began paying attention to his surroundings. They had been driving for quite a while, as the scenery was far different from any he'd seen before. Certainly far out from Tranquility.

Apparently, a mudslide had happened in these hills close to the sleepy-sounding city, and he and a whole bunch of other vehicles of his persuasion were parked around a certain area of it, to begin the search for humans alive in the mess of snapped trees and heavy, water-filled dirt.

With a mental shake, Ratchet threw off the rest of his rather depressing mood, instantly starting up his scanners and searching the disaster area for life. Sensors far more powerful than any the humans had yet to invent scanned over every inch, searching for the faint pulses and electronic static that would signal to Ratchet a human was still alive.

This was his element now. And until more Autobots arrived, until Starscream returned and tried to rally the Decepticons into a new war, this was his life.

Signals pinged, and he hacked into their primitive scanners, amplifying them and showing them what he had found. His human "students" immediately went to the rescue of the four bio signatures he had found.

It was not Iacon, training new younglings...but it would do. Ratchet smiled to himself as he watched thankful humans being dug out of the mess that had been their home, marking four more lives saved on his record.

It would do quite nicely.

_------_

I have no idea why Ratchet decided to be the possessed Hummer of some random hosptal, but eh, I figured that if Bee and Ironhide can get around being the "innocent" vehicles of their humans friends, Optimus and the others wouldn't want to just sit around doing nothing either.

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	3. Chapter 3

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Because Bee and Sam interaction can be too cute to pas sup.

**Disclaimer**: Obviously? Not mine.

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**You're A Soldier Now...Kind Of**

Sam was on a thrilling **Mission**.

His ammunition: several canisters of bright pink paint, specially designed so as not to make any noise.

His target: the large pile of metal plating and wires draped in a giant robot-sized chair that represented an Autobot in recharge.

His objective: thoroughly humiliate whoever happened to be sleeping on duty.

Sam grinned. Being a "soldier" was fun!

He was currently bunking with the Autobots for the summer - his parents had wanted a vacation to themselves for once, and since now Sam had all these nice, big, _responsible_ giant robot friends, his parents had thought it a lovely idea when Sam had suggested spending the summer with them, helping out as they built their base and their place in the world.

It had been boring as hell for the first week or so, until Sam had made an important discovery.

His new best friend-also-car Bumblebee was, relatively, about the same age as he, and he had a mischievous streak that worked perfectly hand-in-hand with normal teenage recklessness.

The fact that he now had a giant robot for a partner in crime instantly evaporated any and all boredom.

The two had become the scourge of the new base - or, well, the minor annoyance, at least. Bee, while young and energetic, still had his sense of duty, and Sam had always been a well-behaved individual, so they kept their pranks to small, harmless stuff. Tonight was, in fact, their biggest mission ever. Bee had come up with the idea of using a prank to remind his elder warriors to not sleep on the job. Fun and educational all at once! Sam had been all over it from the beginning.

He would be decorating their sleeper with a nice batch of humiliating - but washable - pink paint. And to think, he had thought all of his new friends to be too mature for any sort of real fun.

He carefully pushed his ladder-on-wheels over to the pile of recharging metal. Thank god Bee had thought to oil the wheels, else the squeaks would have surely woken up his target. Locking the brakes of the ladder, he climbed up, retrieved a can of paint from his harness of the things, and proceeded to graffiti an Autobot.

It was dark, and the only light came from the viewscreen that the sleeping robot should have been watching - it cast everything into sharp relief, so only outlines could be seen, everything else turned a murky black. Sam didn't particularly care about what his "art" looked like, so he sprayed with merry abandon, not even bothering to try to find out exactly who he was humiliating at the moment.

Well, he did think it was Ironhide. After all, who else would sleep on the job?

He hoped it wasn't Ratchet. Good lord, he really hoped it wasn't - he'd live in fear for _weeks_.

Having reached every single place and angle he could for his current position and used several cans, he stuck the current can back into its holster, and was just heading back down the ladder to push it around to the other side to continue his mission when something caught his eye. Something very out of place.

Oh, _shit_.

"Bee!" He whispered frantically into his headset - a device Bee had made for their pranks, it was a line that tapped directly into the scout's comm units. "Bee, answer me!"

"_What is it, Sam? Are you done?_" The Autobot's voice came, slightly static-y, over the connection - it sounded like the robot was straining slightly to reach something. Which, actually, he was - for he was currently working to balance several buckets of sticky mud over the exit, so that when the unfortunate mech inside the surveillance room noticed he'd been redecoed, there would be some extra fun when he stormed out. Bee had set up cameras to record it, too - he'd have blackmail material for _ages_.

"Bee, please tell me Ironhide's recently gone on some middle-aged crisis or something and gotten himself repainted. Please."

Slightly puzzled, the Autobot scout cocked his head to the side as he watched his buckets carefully, making sure they wouldn't fall. "_No, Ironhide's still the same old black, why?_"

"Did Ratchet?"

"_No, Ratchet's also still his old colors, optic-burning as they are. What's the matter, Sam?_"

"I just saw flames. _Red and blue flames_, Bee. I think I just tagged _Optimus_."

There was a long pause.

"_...Are you sure?_"

Sam whimpered slightly as he stared at the leg of what he now knew to be the Autobot leader. "Really, really sure."

"_Run, Sam, **run**. Dispose of the evidence and lie like a glitching Decepticon. If anyone asks we've never seen each other all day and this never happened!!_"

"Fine by me!" Sam promptly turned and ran for the figurative hills, throwing caution aside in his need to simply get the hell outta Dodge. Bumblebee practically broke records by how fast he transformed and peeled out of the hallway he had been in, leaving patches of rubber behind in his wake. He met up with Sam outside, and both decided discretion was the better part of valor and promptly high-tailed it back to Tranquility, where they would park outside Taco Bell and pretend they'd been there all afternoon. Yes, brilliance.

At least, until a very familiar Topkick parked behind Bee with a very menacing quality to the growl of its engine. Had anyone cared to look at the new Camaro with the sleek paintjob ahead of it, they would have noticed it mysteriously shaking on its suspension, rather like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Ironhide grumbled. "_Bumblebee._"

The scout, if possible, shook harder. Sam wisely decided to remain inside the restaurant.

"_Yes, Ironhide?_"

There was a pause. And then...

"_Optimus took it in stride, like he always does, but Ratchet's worked himself up into a fury over having to clean that gunk out of Optimus's ventilation system. Prime suggests you two spend a day or two out of the base and get all your energy out of your systems. He's too soft, but eh, you're younglings._"

If a car could sigh in relief, Bumblebee would have done so. He sank down on his hydraulics, letting air hiss out of his vents in the best imitation he could achieve.

The next words, however, made him tense right back up.

"_That's just Optimus's one condition, however. If you don't want to be forcibly escorted to a certain irritated medic, however, you'll have to conceed to my stipulations too._"

"_And what...would those be...?_" Bee managed, managing to keep his communications steady out of sheer will.

"_I'd better have a copy of that recording you rigged up by nightfall sitting on my recharge booth, or you and your little human charge will be facing up to Ratchet. With your weapons and servos all off-lined._"

And with that, the black truck promptly laughed his way back to the base.

Sam, finally deigning it was safe to come outside when Bumblebee didn't flee for the hills once Ironhide left, approached his car. "Uh, Bee? What are we gonna do?"

The mech was silent for a moment, before he popped his door open slightly in an invitation. Sam obligingly got in. Finally, the yellow robot spoke.

"First, we're going sneak back to base and make copies of those recordings I have, so I can get it into Ironhide's room before he turns me over to a certain someone. Then, we're going to run away again and spend a few days a safe distance away from the base, outside of a safe wrench-throwing radius."

"Ratchet?"

"Ratchet."

"Ah."

There was a comfortable silence as Bee started himself up and headed back towards the base. After a few minutes, Sam spoke up again.

"Did you have any of that paint left?"

"Yeeees, why?"

"Well...you're going to be in Ironhide's room, right? And we're already in trouble..."

There was a pause.

Then Sam could have sworn the Camaro _smirked._

---

Ironhide stared at his quarters in resignation.

Pink. Bright pink. Every available surface area was covered with the stuff, some in Sam's neat, blocky writing, others in Bee's large and graceful script. Most of the phrases were "colorful" - he hadn't known Bumblebee had known that particular turn of phrase...

And, as if to add insult to injury, there was the promised recording, sitting innocently on his rechagre booth (also pink, for the record).

Shaking his head, Ironhide just sighed and headed towards the disk.

Younglings.

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No idea where this came from. None. Just, suddenly, the image of Sam creeping around, humming the Mission Impossible theme and shaking a can of spray paint got stuck in my head, and this was born. Bee, in the '07 movie, strikes me as sort of a subtle pranker - he doesn't go all out like the twins do, but he causes his own fair share of mischief. And, of course, what better partner-in-crime to have than a giant robot from space?

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	4. Chapter 4

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**Warnings**: None for this chapter.

**Disclaimer**: I no own Transformers, though I do like occasionally playing God with the toys.

Mwahahaha. Also, Jazz is miraculously revived for this short. He just is.

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**For The Love Of Power  
**

Optimus Prime shifted his weight from one massive leg to the other, watching the preparations unfold before him.

The US Government had granted them two areas, so far, to make their bases in. One was an abandoned quarry in the hills next to Tranquility, and where they spent most of their time, as most of their human contacts were close by. They had renovated that quickly enough, to at least be liveable, and now they were working on transforming the other base.

The Hoover Dam.

This was more to be a place to confer with others, an outpost if you will. Since it was already sized for both small and large, it would be a good base to cooperate with the humans. They were here now to complete it.

A human was waving its arms excitedly, and Optimus refrained from cycling exhaust to imitate a sigh when he saw who it was. He still didn't care for Agent Simmons, but the man was slowly coming around, especially as his beloved Sector Seven had been abolished, and now he was just one of the relations men between the humans and the Autobots. He stepped closer, obviously the man wanted his attention.

"Hey, uh, Mr. Prime is it? We need you guys to take a look over there, it's where we're thinking of putting the hidden access road for you guys--"

"Just Optimus will do." He cut off Simmons, starting to head for the direction indicated. "And a hidden road would be helpful, as none of us currently here are disguised as an army vehicle."

Nodding, Simmons ran to keep up with his steps. "Right, and even so, you guys are flashy, you know that? Like that one little yellow one, I mean, a sports car like that draws any man's eye, and quite a few girls, too. Anyways, it's got a nice grade to it, not too steep but enough to get out of the canyon, and it bends around to be hidden from the tourist road..."

The man continued to babble as they headed in that direction, and Optimus idly noticed that he had rounded up the rest of his mechs. Strange, why was Bumblebee ducking down as he crossed that patch of land--Optimus stopped in consternation as he reached the reason why.

A large powerline stretched across this stretch of dirt, high voltage and just high enough for his smaller companions to crouch under and slide through. Slag, Jazz just strolled under it without bothering to duck, he had enough clearance.

This, of course, put it at an irritating height for Optimus - too tall to step over like fences and walls, but not easy to go under, either. And Optimus was not built to duck like that, his legs were far too long.

He glared at it for a minute, considering his options. One, transform and just roll under it. Easiest way, but tiresome, as he'd just have to do it every time he crossed this path. Too involved.

Two...he could attempt to duck under it. Ironhide had even gotten under it, and he was not the most graceful of mechs. It would look undignified, but would save him the trouble. And who knew, maybe he could do it...

Ignoring the human who had raised an eyebrow at his pause, Optimus merely bent over, sliding under the wires. going slowly as to avoid brushing up against them. He was triumphant for a moment as it seemed he would clear it - this would not be a problem. Then suddenly a proximity warning and a shout of "Optimus, watch out!!" caused him to jerk in surprise, staggered upwards--right into the powerlines.

According to the others, he'd given a loud shout, had spasmed, then had fallen over backwards, optics offline for a few minutes. Optimus had no memory of that - his last memory was the shout, and then suddenly, he was onlining his optics to stare up at Earth's blue sky.

Ratchet had been right - it tingled in a way that was not dissimilar to overcharging on high-grade, or even interfacing with another mech. The electric currents tingled over his chassis and through his sensors, and he had a vague thought that perhaps they needn't fight the Decepticons if they all just hooked up to Earth's powerlines together. Such a peaceful feeling, all tingly. He could stay like this forever.

Then sense started to return as the concerned - and amused, slag Jazz - visages of his comrades leaned over into view. Optimus blinked his optics quickly, starting to sit up as the sensation cleared. They helped him to his feet, mercifully silent, as the humans stood by in amazement, unsure of what to do.

Then Ironhide broke the silence by opening his mouth. "So is it as fun as Ratchet said?"

As Jazz and Bumblebee burst into giggles, Optimus was saved of having to hit his weapons specialist by Ratchet doing it for him.

He sighed. There was a lot to learn about life on this planet.

* * *

:bursts into song: _You've got the touch, you've got the poooweeeeer!_

Because Ratchet losing to the powerlines is one of my single favorite moments in the film.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

**Warnings**: None for this chapter.

**Disclaimer**: I no own Transformers, though I do like occasionally playing God with the toys.

Just watched the movie again, so I gotta fill in blanks. Of course. Once again, Optimus stars as the POV! Gotta love the big bot. Humor and drama both in this story.

* * *

**Field Repairs**

The fight was finally over. Megatron lay sprawled across the concrete, defeated and spark extinguished. The remaining Decepticons either shared his fate or had already turned and fled. It bothered Optimus slightly that Starscream was one of the Decepticons to escape and flee - the Seeker had always been the better tactician than Megatron, and wouldn't stand and fight like Megatron would. No, the flier would definitely plan first, and only attack when he had the distinct advantage, such was his programming.

Megatron had often called him cowardly and dishonorable, and while Optimus agreed, he also knew that such techniques could be far more deadly than sheer power.

Shaking his head, he turned towards his team. The humans had long cordoned off the area, chasing away anyone who hadn't already fled, and prevented news crews from getting close enough to film them. They were swarming over the bodies of the dead Decepticons, something about disposing of them in a place where their bodies would not affect the environment.

He kept a tight hold on Jazz - his body would not go with the Decepticons, but would stay with them. He had a half-formed idea about the sliver of Allspark he had retrieved from Megatron's body and the Matrix, but it would wait. At the very least, they would repair his body and give him a true Autobot send-off, befitting of his deeds.

Now, all that was left to do was to find someplace for them to lay low and recover from the wounds this battle had wrought, Bumblebee especially...

So absorbed in his thoughts, he did not see the warning signs, even when Ironhide was edging past him in a futile attempt to flee. And so, without warning onto hapless humans and Autobots both, **IT** descended.

Bumblebee was the first target. The small scout's doorwings vibrated in fear as a wall of chartreuse green loomed over him. He looked up at the face of his doom.

Ratchet scowled down at him, evil glint in his optics as he reformed his hand into one of his medical tools. "The next time you try to turn into a shield, _youngling_, kindly do not catch missiles with your torso! You had better pray to Primus each night in thanks that it's a clean wound and nothing needs to be replaced! Does it look like spare parts spring out of the ground like petrorats? Why don't any of you slaggards ever consider how hard you'll be to repair _before_ doing these kinds of things!?"

The humans stared in awe and fear as Ratchet ranted at Bumblebee, who was unable to escape from the terrifying medic and just sat there, squeaking and clicking pathetically. Ironhide snickered.

Unfortunately, Ratchet heard him, whirling around and shaking his non-transformed fist at the stocky mech. "And you! Don't get me started on your self-slagging stunts, Ironhide! The next time I see you jumping around like that and twisting your frame, I am replacing your leg servos with marshmallows! And don't expect any sympathy from me if your gears are all stripped now!"

The medic didn't even seem to notice his use of the word marshmallows, so into it was he. Optimus' optics had widened, and he froze in place like the others when Ratchet's gaze fell on him. Even if he was their leader, Optimus would not be spared by Ratchet on the warpath.

Ratchet actually walked away from Bumblebee to address Optimus - Bee flailed his arms in a panicked plee at his humans, trying to get them to take the tow truck far away, but they were frozen by Ratchet's ire - and jabbed a finger against one of Optimus's windshields.

"And don't think I didn't see you doing half the things _you_ did, Prime! I've reamed the twin's afts time and time again for playing that ridiculous "Jet Judo" game of theirs with the Seekers, and you go and do it with _Megatron_!? What possesses sane mechs to leap into the air to try to catch a fragging flying _jet_!? Do you know how much strain is placed on every part of your body when you change direction that fast? You aren't reinforced for flight like the Seekers, Optimus! And then you didn't even let go when he slammed you through several _buildings_!"

Optimus couldn't find the words to defend himself, merely blinking wide optics down at the infuriated medic, feeling almost as if he was a youngling again with Alpha Trion dressing him down for some ridiculous prank he and Megatron had played.

Only, Alpha Trion had been taller than even Megatron had been, and Ratchet inspired more fear, for all he barely came up to his chassis.

Perhaps it was the imminent threat of being reconfigured into a waste disposal right then and there by the medic. Ratchet continued his tirade, waving his arms.

"And then you go and climb _more_ buildings, then fall off them, then let Megatron throw you around...Primus, I'm surprised you still have all your limbs! If you had lost your left hand again, I don't know what I'd do, because you're slagging helpless trying to use your right, and watching you try is just embarrassing. I don't have the materials to totally replace limbs! After I finish with the yellow martyr over there, you're next, Prime, and don't you dare argue!"

Optimus nodded meekly. Quiet agreement was best, perhaps Ratchet would go away if he smiled and nodded enough. Ratchet put his hands on his hips, apparently feeling vindicated now that he had gotten to yell at everyone aside from the humans.

Then Ironhide apparently decided he hadn't come close enough to seeing Primus that day, and opened his mouth.

"Ah, you're just grumpy, Ratchet, because Starscream shot you in the aft and then plowed you over when he flew off."

Dead silence for a moment. The kliks seemed to drag on forever. Optimus could feel the heat waves practically rolling off Ratchet as his core temperature rose in anger.

What was that human term again? Ah yes. "It's gonna blow!"

Ratchet turned, and Optimus had the pleasure of seeing Ironhide actually flinch at whatever expression was on the medic's face. Ratchet cycled some air to cool his systems down, and suddenly straightened. Optimus lowered his audio receptor's sensitivity in preparation.

"_I AM GOING TO TURN YOUR CANNONS INTO A METRO GEO, YOU SLAGGING GUN-TURRET WITH PROCESSORS!! YOU WILL BE EJECTING LUBRICANT OUT OF YOUR AFT BY THE TIME I'M THROUGH WITH YOU!!_" Ratchet lunged at Ironhide, and soon the black mech was wailing, Bumblebee and Optimus's repairs forgotten as Ratchet promptly began to fix Ironhide. Without turning off his pain receptors. Both listened to Ironhide's pleas for mercy with some relief. They weren't the one's under Ratchet's laser cutters.

Sometimes, it was worth the pain of enduring injuries to not be the first one for field repairs.

* * *

Note about Ratchet screaming about Optimus's left hand: I noticed, in the movie, almost everything Optimus does - gestures, picking things/people up, etc. - he does with his left hand. There are exceptions, of course, but he mostly uses his left hand, while the other mechs use their right. So, I believe right-and-left-handed exist even in our dear robots. :p

And also, yes, if you watch the part where Starscream battles with Ratchet and Ironhide, he _does_ shoot Ratchet in the aft with his machine gun. Then, as he flies away, he totally knocks Ratchet over. Starscream is undoubtedly not in Ratchet's good graces after this.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

**Warnings**: None for this chapter.

**Disclaimer**: I no own Transformers, though I do like occasionally playing God with the toys.

Maa, felt like writing something drama-ish after the last few chapters of humor. Title has next to nil to do with the story.

* * *

**Afraid Of Music  
**

He sat on the outlook for several moments, tucked away in his alt-mode, before he decided he was alone and stood up.

Jazz held a hand in front of his optics, wriggling the claw-like fingers with a wry smile.

He always had been prepared to die in the war for the Allspark. It was a certainty every mech carried with him nowadays - after watching so many die around you, no one long expected to be the one to live through the war. However, expecting to die and the reality of it were quite different.

Megatron had come, scared humans scattering and trying to run away from the tyrant - with good reason. But they were too slow, and Jazz didn't want to run away and allow them to be squished under those giant feet. They were innocent, they did not deserve that fate. So he had stood his ground, holding his shield up and trying to buy a few moments for Autobot, soldier, and civilian to retreat.

He'd blocked the first shot. The sheer power behind it had caused him to stumble, unable to recover in time as Megatron fired a second shot, knocking him off his feet. And, before he could even get to his own feet, the giant had grabbed him and flew off.

Now Jazz was an agile mech, perfectly comfortable and never dizzy when at least one limb was anchored to something solid. But it was a secret truth that once he was in mid-air, in flight, his gyros always spun dizzily in protest. He was not meant to leave the ground. Megatron had flown, tossed him in the air, and before Jazz knew it, had landed on him, all those tons of solid metal pressing him against whatever they'd landed on.

Megatron's perch was uneven, though, and just allowed the tiniest bit of leverage. In a desperate last attempt, he'd tried pulling himself out from under Megatron, almost succeeding. Just his lower legs had been left when suddenly that deep voice rumbled in his ears, and Megatron had grabbed him, pulling him up and out himself.

Jazz knew he was slagged then, and did the last thing he could think of. If he was going to die here, than Primus, he was going to go out with a bang. He fired wildly at Megatron, pleased when he actually hit the tyrant, screaming. Useless defiance, but if he was going down, he would at least let the one killing him know how he felt about him and his creator. "_You want a piece of me? You want a piece!?_"

Then, pain, more than he had ever imagined or felt as Megatron had grabbed both ends of his body, pulling with all his massive strength. There was a tearing sound, a feeling of utter pain and yet somehow release, and as his optics started to flicker out, Jazz knew he was dead, floating away to Primus with Megatron's last words in his ears.

"_No, I want two pieces!_"

He was not sure how long he had stayed dead. He had floated in nothingness for what seemed like an eternity, feeling the pulsing warmth of the Matrix so close by and yet unable to join. He'd tried to, many times, tried to at least be a part of that endless peace he felt after being in war for so long, but each time he was rebuffed. Finally, he had screamed out in a wordless voice, begging why.

And a deep voice, with no sound but words clear had responded.

_Your time among the living is still not finished_.

The next thing he knew, everything hurt, everything was too bright, and he was locked in his last living memory - Megatron's claws ripping his smaller body to shreds. For lack of anything better to do, he had screamed once again and lashed out at the first moving thing.

Poor Ratchet, he hadn't meant to take out his left optic like that, though it had been easily fixed. The medic knew it, though, and didn't blame him for it, though Jazz had a feeling he was still a little prickly over the matter.

It had been something of a miracle, but they'd brought him back with a sliver of the Allspark left in conjunction with Optimus's Matrix. And so, here he was now, admiring the way his hand wiggled. He was alive.

For what? He was not quite sure. But if Primus himself had told him his time was not yet finished, then it wasn't finished - who else could that deep voice have been, after all? And like slag he was going to waste a second chance at life. He was needed here - that was the sole reason he had not passed on and rejoined the other sparks. He had a job to do.

What it was, he did not know. But he was content to wait until he knew. Jazz had always been a faithful 'bot when it came to Primus's teaching.

He looked up at the stars, letting his visor slide down as he smirked. It was his first turn at arrival duty - scanning upwards towards the stars and hoping any Autobots had come in range this night. They had established it when Optimus had first sent his message to the stars. Hopefully there would be ones to respond.

Jazz was especially suited to the job - while he was no communications officer, his job as a saboteur and Special Ops officer meant he was especially sensitive to picking up transmissions, whether he was supposed to be doing so or not. Perhaps this was his purpose - to be the homing beacon for their kind, picking up and drawing in lost friends to their new home.

Jazz knew he was looking for one comm signature especially. His best friend since the Academy, in the days where Cybertron had been still peaceful and Megatron was sane. The one who had always been by his side until they had fatefully split when the Allspark had launched into space. As long as this one mech had survived the war, Jazz would be at peace no matter what.

_Please, Prowl, please still be out there somewhere..._ He pleaded towards the stars.

And, like Primus granting him one last miracle, static crackled in his sensors.

:_Prowl to Optimus Prime, are you there Prime? Can you hear me?_:

Jazz grinned. :_Prowl! Took you long enough!_:

As Prowl replied, startled and pleased at the sound of his best friend's voice, Jazz idly started a subroutine he had been reluctant to restart ever since he came back to life in Ratchet's makeshift medbay. Music flooded his processors, and instantly all of his doubt washed away. There was still hope, and as long as Jazz had hope, he had music.

The Jazzbot was back, and nothing would keep him down again.

* * *

These oneshots are actually assembling some kind of storyline and chronological sense. XD;; They're still oneshots, but now they're sort of connected into the same universe, as it were. Snippets of time. Oh well, gives me more ideas.

And no, this was not a hint of Prowl/Jazz. :p Read into that if you like it, but I always considered them to be best friends instead. Course, now I have to decide who I like with them better...

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I no own Transformers, though I do like occasionally playing God with the toys.

Another drama chapter - Decepticon this time! - and then we will return to your regularly scheduled humor.

* * *

**No Home For The Wicked**_  
_

This entire star system was made of dirt, and Starscream hated it.

The system that orbited Cybertron's primary star had been rather small - only Cybertron and two other planets were in it, besides Cybertron's moons and a few asteroids and comets. it had been relatively empty, and by extension, clean, unlike this system with its seemingly endless supply of planets, asteroids, and other such space debris that all seemed to home in on him, determined to knock into him and make him slag himself against a flying rock.

He growled at the ground, trying to shake off the red dust that covered the fourth planet. Primus, he hated dirt.

Cybertron's landmasses had been made of metal ores and alloys, and in some places had been as smooth as their own armor plating. Of course it had broken and ground up under their significantly larger mass to become a sort of fine metal powder, but it had been heavy, and did not stick to their feet. Also, with Cybertron's nearly non-existent atmosphere, there was never any wind to kick it up aside from his own turbines. It did not conspire to stick to his every surface, grinding into his joints and causing them to grate irritatingly.

He didn't know how the Autobots could stand it.

Deciding that the dust just wasn't going to come off - what he wouldn't give for a soak in cleaning solvent right about now - he craned his neck back, sneering at the blue dot in the night sky that was the third planet.

The Autobots could try to make a new home all they wanted, Starscream knew the truth. No place would ever be home aside from Cybertron.

Perhaps it would work for them, but never him. He was a Seeker. He had been built and programmed to defend Cybertron. That had been the sole reason they had even created his kind. He could never turn his back on his planet, his home. He had only left it because the Allspark had left, and he had needed to find it. Who gave a slag about Megatron, Cybertron was what mattered. That was the only reason he had left his home, though the other Decepticons had wanted Megatron as well.

Starscream sneered, kicking at the remains of the small survey drone they had destroyed their first pass to Earth.

Who would want Megatron back? His war had engulfed Cybertron, turning it into a twisted slagged shell of what it had once been. Everything had been destroyed, but if he had gotten the Allspark there might have been a chance to revive it, a chance to _save_ it...!

But that was impossible now.

He had been prepared for the Autobots to die. He had been prepared for the Decepticons to die. Either of their leaders should have died in that fight - slag, he'd taken pot shots at Megatron himself, hidden in the human jets. Easiest way to shake them, it had been - shoot the enemy! It relieved the sting of being hit by one of those missiles himself.

But he hadn't expected the Allspark to be destroyed. The Autobots had to have known it was the only way to revive Cybertron, and yet, they had the human destroy it anyways. It ended the war - in theory - but sealed their fate at the same time. The Autobots had not intended to ever return to Cybertron. He could see that now. They had left Cybertron to its fate as a dead chunk of space-rock.

"Traitors!" He hissed. Turning their backs on their home, leaving it to die and just moving on. Traitors, all of them. And Megatron the worst of them all.

And so, here he was, standing on this miserable red rock full of itchy dust, glaring at the planet in the distance.

There were very few times when Starscream did not have a plan, and this was one of them. What was he to do? Barricade was the only active Decepticon left on Earth, and he had disappeared to avoid detection - and, most likely, was trying to find and fix Frenzy. Soundwave had let Frenzy on the expedition on the strict rule that he was not to be harmed. If Soundwave ever found out how badly the little glitch had been hurt, Barricade's aft was little better than molten slag. Scorponok was still in that desert somewhere, but was slowly dying without Blackout to sustain him. All the rest were dead.

He could not attack the Autobots alone - not with Prime alive and that walking gun-turret of a weapons specialist they had. He was outnumbered, and while he was confident he could do serious damage if he did attack, the odds of surviving such a suicide run without backup were minimal. He did not want to be grabbed in mid-air by Prime, thank you very much. And more Autobots were coming - he'd heard the signal himself. Staying here alone was unthinkable.

He couldn't return either, however. Cybertron was abandoned, the Decepticons scattered across the galaxy much like the Autobots were. It would take time for the news of Megatron's death and the destruction of the Allspark to spread, and what would it do? He could call the others here, as he was currently the leader of them all from Megatron's death. But for what end? To drag the war on? As much as it would please him to squish the Autobots when they had found something to hope for, it wasn't practical. It would drive their race even closer to extinction, and what would they fight over, anyways? The Allspark was gone, Cybertron dead. It would be little more than revenge-killing at this point, and Megatron didn't deserve to be avenged.

It wasn't like Earth was a prize to fight over, either. So no, continuing the war was illogical, though many Decepticons would beg to differ. Fine, let them slag themselves - Autobots were vicious when they had something to protect, and that little planet of theirs was definitely something they protected - Starscream wasn't ready to die just yet.

He was many things, but stupid was not one of them.

But still, what was left to do? He could not stay. He could not return, either. Whether he stayed here on Mars or just drifted through space, he was bound to run out of energy at some point. He needed somewhere to go, but he had nowhere else to go.

_Home_. He wanted to go home.

"Home is gone." He rasped to himself. It was gone, slagged, unliveable. The Cybertron of his memories, that he had tried so hard to protect, was gone, destroyed by his own faction's war.

Megatron destroyed their home, and Starscream would never forgive him for that. He hoped the slagger burned in the Pits.

He shuttered his optics for a moment, just standing. So quiet. The only thing this planet had going for it was the sheer silence. So peaceful. This planet was meant to be dead, so no echoes of its former life remained.

He decided. He leaped into the air, transforming as he went and blasting through the thin atmosphere into space.

He would go back home. He would try to find another way to revive Cybertron, even if he died in the process. He wouldn't abandon his planet.

Idly, Starscream found the Autobot's signal and forwarded it, passing it on and reviving its strength. Already he could hear several of them, trying to reach their leader as they got closer. Let the Autobots gather on their silly little mudball with the squishy organics. It would get them out of Starscream's way. He would not be interrupted.

Firing his thrusters, he continued flying through space, aimed for a distant star.

He would not give up on his home like the others.

* * *

Because Starscream needs more characterization than just "evil afthole".

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I no own Transformers, though I do like occasionally playing God with the toys.

Mwa ha ha.

* * *

**At The Carwash**_  
_

"Come on, please?"

"No."

"You're caked in mud. That's no way to make a good impression on the government, believe me."

"I said no."

"You really need this, I can't even see your paint!"

"Please desist, human. I refuse."

"You look like a giant brownie. It's like you got into a fight with a birthday cake and lost."

"...I fail to see how human desserts relate to this. No."

Optimus paused as he walked into one of the strangest arguments he had ever heard. He blinked his optics when he noticed just who was arguing.

Prowl stood, arms crossed and scowling downwards at one Sam Witwicky, who was waving what looked to be a sponge.

"I do not need to be washed, Samuel Witwicky. Outer appearance is unnecessary, and I have work to do."

"Work that includes standing in front of a bunch of stuffy old guys, begging them to not shoot you on sight. You gotta look the part!"

Feeling like he got the gist of the argument, Optimus walked over. "What is the problem, Prowl?"

The new arrival straightened as he arrived, instantly in work-mode. "This human is insisting he give me something called a 'carwash'. It will only delay my objectives, sir."

Optimus crossed his arms, turning his attention to a pouting Sam. "How long does it take to wash a car of Prowl's size, Sam?" He ignored Prowl's startled look.

"Um...usually takes me about two hours for Bee, and Prowl here looks about the same size, maybe a little bigger. Should be around the same time, waxing and all."

"Sir!" Prowl was instantly protesting. "My outer appearance is not of any concern, I should be getting to work...!"

He silenced the tactician with a gesture. "Prowl, your work ethic is admirable, however young Sam here does have a point. You need to be registered with the US government so that they know who is friendly and who is not. It is especially important for you, as you have chosen a law enforcement vehicle as your alt-mode, and a Decepticon has already been noted to go under the same guise. And while external appearances are superficial, yes, making a good impression never hurts. It will not take long, please allow Sam to do his work."

The police cruiser stiffened, as if wanting to argue, before his doorwings lowered slightly in submission. "...Yes sir. I understand."

Slightly amused, Optimus let a smile cross his faceplates. "You will be added to the wash roster as well, keeping clean is important. Or shall I have Ratchet lecture you on the benefits of staying clean in regards to your health?"

Prowl practically slammed himself down onto the concrete floor of the base in his hurry. If there was one thing they all truly feared about Ratchet other than his wrath, it was his lectures about proper maintenance and upkeep. "A healthy mech is a happy mech" was a line that echoed in all their nightmares.

Sam grinned as he picked up the hose. "That's more like it! Now, let's get you to a state worthy of being a kick-ass robot..."

* * *

Two and a half hours later - Sam had apparently refused to allow Prowl to even start his engine or transform before the polish had set - a very disgruntled police cruiser rolled out of the base, sparkling clean. On the giant whiteboard the humans insisted they keep - "So we know who's doing what!" - Prowl's name had now been scribbled into several spots. Including one on Friday that said "Weekly Wash".

Optimus allowed himself to chuckle slightly as Prowl drove off, muttering something in Cybertronian about sponges violating him. He looked down at his arm, twisting it a little and watching the light catch and sparkle on his own paintjob.

He did not understand the traditional obsession with human males and the clean state of their cars, but he had to admit, Sam did a good job of keeping them clean during the summer.

And he would never admit how much he liked his paintjob, especially when he'd been freshly waxed. Vanity was not a trait befitting a leader, after all...but Sam had done such an excellent job getting those scratches out.

Well, perhaps a little vanity was okay...he needed to keep up a good impression as a leader, after all, and he couldn't very well do that all scratched up and dirty. He had an image to maintain, as did they all.

Still smiling, Optimus headed back to his office.

* * *

Because when you're going to have giant robots posing as flashy concept cars and hulking semis, letting themselves get dirty is practically a sin.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I no own Transformers, though I do like occasionally playing God with the toys.  
**Warnings**: Flagrant laws being broken

I have absolutely no shame!

* * *

**America's Most Wanted  
**

It was a beautiful California day, and Tranquility was living up to its name.

Sam and Bumblebee were driving along the highway, returning to Sam's home from the Autobot base. The two friends were chatting, blissfully unaware of the bad turn their day was about to take.

Sam nearly jumped out of his own skin when the siren started blaring, police lights flickering in Bee's review mirror. "Oh shit! Is that Barricade!?"

"...No, Sam. Nor is it Prowl. It seems like a normal human police car." Bumblebee wasn't very concerned - what harm would a human police car do?

"Oh, that's good..." Sam relaxed for a moment, before it hit him and he tensed again. "Oh shit!"

"Sam? What is the matter? Why is the police car following us?"

Hastily Sam tried to buckle his seatbelt - a habit he had been neglecting due to the fact that his car was in actuality a giant robot and didn't do such mundane things as "crashing". "I wasn't buckled up! They're gonna pull us over, this is bad!"

Confused, Bumblebee made to pull over, only to have Sam grab the wheel. "Sam!? Shouldn't we just obey the law? All you'll get is a ticket, right?"

"Bee, no, you don't understand, he'll ask for my registration!" Sam exclaimed, knuckles tense on the steering wheel. The significance of this eluded the yellow scout.

"Registration? You mean your driving license? You have it, right? Then why..."

The human shook his head furiously. "No Bee, _your_ registration. Papers that say I own the car I'm driving and have insurance! I don't have any of that!"

Too true, for Bumblebee had been "bought from" a certain Bobby Bolivia, who hadn't been very picky about who he sold to and the papers needed. And while Sam had insurance from his father, the papers had Bumblebee registered as a Camaro a great deal older and more junked up than his current form.

Understanding dawned on the scout. "Something bad will happen since we don't have those papers, right?"

"They'll think I stole you! I'll probably be arrested and you'll be taken to the impound somewhere! Oh man, what are we gonna do?"

Bumblebee weaved a bit on the road, keeping watch on the cop car following closely. His inner Autobot programming told him to accept the consequences of law-breaking, but being taken to an impound would mean he would have to get out of the impound, and therefore reveal himself, give Sam a criminal record, and then there would be all the _lectures_...

Only one choice.

"Hold on, Sam, and pretend you're driving."

"Wha--whoa!!"

The teen was practically flung back against his seat as the Camaro floored it.

* * *

Optimus, for once, seemed speechless as he merely just stared down at his youngest soldier and his human charge.

Bumblebee stared down at the ground, doorwings drooping and antennae flat against his head in shame. Sam was shuffling in place, looking down as he rubbed at the back of his head. Both were the picture of younglings who knew punishment was coming - and lots of it.

"So let me get this straight..." He started. "You had broken several laws, by both neglecting proper registration and safety laws, then proceeded to break several more to escape revealing yourself, including and not limited to evading arrest, breaking the speed limit, and reckless endangerment, and causing this to be broadcasted over the entire state of California."

His silver hand gestured at a screen behind him, which immediately lit up with recordings from a news helicopter, following a very familiar yellow Camaro as he whipped through interstate traffic at speeds that could only be described as "too fast for any sane person to drive". There was a convoy of at least ten or more police cars tailing the Camaro, trying to keep up with the unnaturally-fast car.

Silence reigned as the three merely watched the video for a moment, Sam wincing slightly as it showed a certain moment where Bumblebee had barrelled down the exit ramp, tires squealing as he had drifted right through a traffic light and narrowly avoided being impounded on all sides by oncoming traffic. He could almost hear his own tinny scream on the footage tape, that entire car chase had been one of the scariest things he'd even been through.

"I'm sorry, sir. I have no excuse, and accept any punishment." Bumblebee murmured, still looking downwards. Optimus sighed.

"First off, neither of you are to leave the base for a week unsupervised. The incident will be fresh for a while, and it took a lot of governmental persuasion for the law enforcement to give up chasing you. This drew unnecessary attention. I will think of punishment detail later for the both of you. Before that, we have a problem to take care of."

Both looked up, slightly confused. "Problem? What kind of problem?" Sam piped up.

Optimus gave them a stern look. "You will get proper papers for Bumblebee, the both of you. I will not have a repeat incident of this, do you understand?"

Desperate nodding from both parties.

"Good. Now go find Prowl, he will handle your punishment and getting your paperwork sorted out."

The larger mech watched as the two younglings shuffled away, dejected at being handed over to the notoriously strict tactician. Only were they out of the room did Optimus allow himself to smile. This incident had alerted them to the need for proper paperwork for those Autobots with human charges - he would have to alert Ironhide to make sure he was made aware, as well.

And besides, the news footage was rather amusing in its own right.

* * *

Paperwork is a tricky little thing they never handled in the movie...and while the Witwickys might have had paperwork for the original Bumblebee, there is the small matter of his changed form...and all it would take was forgetting that seatbelt. XD

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I no own Transformers, though I do like occasionally playing God with the toys.  
**Warnings**: None

* * *

**Ornament**

Several human months had passed since their fateful arrival here on this planet, and life was beginning to fall into more or less a routine. Sam and Mikaela had returned to school at the end of the summer, both seeming jittery and excited about something called "seniors", and were often buried in homework even inside the Autobot base.

It made Ratchet a little grumpy that he had lost his human prodigy to endless mounds of paperwork, but apparently this "senior" thing was important, and Mikaela still had plenty of time to learn.

As the months passed, no new arrivals aside from Prowl came, though the tactician assured them that many were on their way. Apparently, they had been rather far behind and spread out, so arrival times of months and even years was not unsurprising. Hopefully, this meant they'd be seeing new faces soon.

However, his attention was grabbed by what the two humans, Jazz, and Bumblebee were currently doing.

Somewhere in the past month, the "senior" enthusiasm had slagged a bit, and Sam and Mikaela seemed overly excited by something else instead called "Christmas", a human holiday. They had then endeavored to explain it to the Autobots, and the resulting images of flying red men handing out presents and miracle babies being born had effectively fried Prowl's logic circuits and left him babbling for half a day. Deciding to avoid such a meltdown again, the humans had simply started to show the Autobots instead of telling them.

Which resulted n the spectacle that was unfolding before him.

Jazz and Bumblebee were endeavoring to hold a huge fir tree upright - they had been oddly vague about just where they had found a thirty-foot Douglas Fir - which was not going smoothly as the tree was twice as tall as the two minibots. Both had pine needles sticking out of them like porcupine quills - Ratchet was going to have to clean them up later, he just knew it - and the humans were down at the base of the tree, trying to secure the stand Ratchet had made for the tree so it wouldn't fall over.

Already he was beginning to regret his involvement in this.

However, miraculously, they eventually succeeded, and the tree stood straight and proud right in the middle of the large room that had been deemed the "rec room" of their base.

Then, Optimus stepped inside, carrying two huge boxes, and the slight smile on his faceplates told Ratchet all he needed to know. Primus, they'd even gotten Optimus enthralled with their plan.

"It was the most Captain Lennox and I could find on short notice, but we did bring back some interesting things. I am surprised humans make decorations this big." The large mech put down the two huge boxes gently, setting them side by side as the other two robots in the room quickly opened them. Sam pumped a fist in the air.

"We've got robot-sized ornaments now, awesome! Everything's set, so everyone grab a decoration and go!"

Ratchet raised a browplate. Decoration?

Optimus reached into the box, pulling out a long, wadded string of...were those lights? "I believe the instructions say to put these on first?"

"Dude, you even found giant lights? Awesome, alright, yeah they go on first. Start at the base and work your way up, we can sort out the rest of the stuff while we wait."

"Of course..." Optimus murmured, and as Jazz and Bumblebee began emptying the boxes, sorting the decorations into piles as directed by the humans, Ratchet had the singular pleasure of watching his leader.

Optimus's frown became more and more pronounced as he tried to untangle the giant messy wad of a knot the light strands had gotten themselves into. He seemed to make progress for a moment, then Ratchet couldn't help the snigger as suddenly the red and blue mech held up his hands, staring at the mess in consternation. Some of them had gotten tangled in his own circuity.

Optimus looked at him, gaze flat and voice dry. "I assume you find this amusing?"

"Damn right I do." Ratchet replied smugly as he just grinned up at his tangled leader. He almost had the feeling that Optimus wanted to give him the human one-fingered salute, but it seemed that the leader was too polite and restrained to do so. Instead, he just sighed.

"A little help, please, Ratchet. I do not want to break the lights."

"Well, since you asked nicely..." Feeling in better spirits, Ratchet moved over to help untangle the strands from themselves and Optimus's own wiring. Maybe this decoration thing wasn't such a bad idea.

* * *

"What the Pit are you all doing?"

Prowl's voice rose over the excited babbling in the room, and everyone turned to look at the tactician.

"We's decorating, man." Jazz replied smoothly, cheeky grin on his faceplates. "Why don't you come help, Prowlie? Take a break from monitoring!"

"Yeah!" The two humans rushed forward and around Prowl, and the police cruiser had to swivel around to stare down at them. Unperturbed by his glare, they began pushing at his legs, trying to get him further into the room. it was about as effectively as them pushing at a brick wall to move it, but that didn't stop them.

"We're...acclimating to human customs, Prowl. We are celebrating Christmas." Optimus, having finally gotten the lights wrapped around the tree and not himself with the help of Ratchet, smiled at his second-in-command as he continued to attach one of the giant ornaments to the top of the tree.

The tactician remained silent for a moment - a twitching optic the only sign that he was fighting for his logic circuits to not fry out again - finally just shook his head. "As fun as that sounds, I came here to alert you all. There is no time for frivolous activities - I've just received signal from a group of Autobots about to make planetfall."

Instantly all optics and eyes were on him, decorations forgotten for the moment. Bumblebee spoke up first. "Who is it?"

"Wheeljack, Perceptor, Bluestreak, and Mirage."

Optmis's smile grew. "It is good that they survived. Any injuries?"

"None that they mentioned. Ironhide is on his way now to meet with them and bring them back to the base. I have already informed the human government of their arrival."

"Thank you Prowl. It will be good to see them again, hopefully they bring news of others."

The humans were smiling up at the robots. "Seems like you guys are getting your Christmas presents early, huh? Or maybe this would be more the family reunion of the holidays?"

Jazz grinned. "Little bit o' both, I think."

Ratchet smiled a little to himself - Wheeljack and Perceptor both had medical abilities, so he would not be so overworked from now on. And Wheeljack was a good friend, it would be nice to see him again.

Then Ratchet's processors caught up with the news.

Wheeljack. Wheeljack was coming.

Half of their base was made of flammable wood that they hadn't reworked yet.

"Primus, we're going to need to line everything with concrete!"

It seemed that the Autobots really would have reason to celebrate with the humans this year.

* * *

Story totally inspired with the song "Ornament" by Trans-Siberian Orchestra getting stuck in my head. That song, surprisingly, is kind of angsty, but this ended up fluffy and warm-hearted crack. Go figure.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I no own Transformers, though I do like occasionally playing God with the toys.  
**Warnings**: Extensive Cybertronian swearing and allusions to wrenches being used illegally.

I seem to enjoy making poor Prowl's life hell. It's an addiction, it seems.

* * *

**On The Warpath**_  
_

The only thing that told Prowl he had even offlined in the first place was waking up in Ratchet's repair bay.

He'd been out patrolling again, trying to replace their lack of monitor coverage by simply going out himself. The base only had enough equipment to monitor what was inside, and the fact that the fairly large city of Tranquility was completely unmonitored except by whoever was driving through it at the moment had not sat well with Prowl.

At least Red Alert was not here yet. He would fritz himself into stasis lock if he knew how open they were.

So Prowl had taken it upon himself to patrol the city as often as he could, going out every time a break in his normal duties presented itself. To be honest, he would prefer to stay on base and continue working, sorting through the endless backlog of files and reports, but he couldn't just leave such a large area unsecured. And he was the only one with an alt-mode that would not draw attention by repeatedly passing the same places on patrol.

And it was nice, he privately admitted, to just get away from his desk and drive.

So he'd been driving down a main road into the city, prepared for another long afternoon of just following the streets and watching the humans go about their business. And then...a flash of pain. A loud crunching sound might have been there too, but his processor was a little foggy.

And then nothing until his optics onlined to stare up at the concrete ceiling of the medbay.

He consulted his repair systems to see the damages. The normal warning flashes about low energy - he ignored those with long-practiced ease. Various damage and structure warnings lit up his arrays - slag, it seemed like something had hit his alt-mode in the side very hard. A Decepticon attack? No, they would have finished him off and he'd be dead now. But what else could offline him so efficiently?

The warnings were not too bad - obviously Ratchet had begun repairing him. Hopefully the medic would get him on his feet soon, he still had work to do. Prowl struggled to sit up.

A large green hand was suddenly placed on his chassis, shoving him right back down. Prowl looked up at the medic, and suddenly understood with a flash why the twins were terrified of the grumpy medic. Megatron had nothing on the fierce scowl of the irritated Hummer.

"Prowl." Ratchet's deep voice murmured, full of the impression that Prowl had better have a slagging good reason for all of this. "Care to enlighten me as to why we had to tow you away from an intersection in Tranquility, offline with a giant dent in your side and energy levels at only twenty-seven percent?"

Slag, Ratchet had noticed the energy levels. "I am sorry. I do not know what happened, only that something hit me. I went offline too fast to see what it was."

"A car. One that was disobeying all traffic laws known to man and mech alike, but a car nonetheless. I'm sure the human government came up with a good reason as to why the police cruiser he plowed into was driving by itself. That's not what matters. What matters is why your energy levels are so low your secondary sensors had gone offline, you slagger!"

He knew that tone of Ratchet's voice immediately. _**IT**_ was coming.

"Why are your energy levels low, Prowl!? Primus knows I've told you time and slagging time again that you can't live on sunshine and air! This whole mess could have been avoided if you would just take in energon more than twice a month, but noooo, the second-in-command can't abandon his slagging post for the klik it takes to walk his lazy aft down to the dispenser and get one cube! Even Bumblebee, who has fragging solar power panels to power his weapons, takes in energon like a normal mech. You don't even have those! Do you think your aft is somehow connected to an infinite power supply that magically feeds you what you need!? Slag, even stopping at a gas station once in a while on your slagging little patrols would have left you in better shape! You were so low that your secondary systems had offlined to conserve energy! You were reamed in the side by a human driver because your sensors were gone to save power and you didn't see him in time! In what universe is impaired senses a good tactical move!? If you ever, and I mean from now until the day the Destroyer comes to grind this universe into atomic particles, show up in my medbay with such low levels again, I swear I will show you the face of Primus with my own two hands! If you don't give me one good fragging reason as to why you can't refuel your own aft, Prowl, so help me, YOU WILL BE A ENERGY-EFFICIENT TOASTER FOR THE REST OF YOUR NATURAL DAYS!!"

Ratchet was on an impressive roll. Prowl couldn't help flinching. "Th-The backlog, I have to get it cleared out--"

_Slam_. Prowl gazed with wide optics at the new, wrench-shaped dent on the table next to his head. He looked back up at Ratchet, and suddenly he knew what the humans meant by the saying "life flashing before your eyes".

Ratchet held up his hand, reformed into a laser scalpel, and shook it threateningly at Prowl. "Time for your repairs, you son of a glitch."

Prowl suddenly had a bad feeling. "My pain receptors are still online--"

"Oh, don't worry about those, this won't hurt a bit."

As the scalpel descended, Prowl realized that the Unmaker was already in their midst, and his name was Ratchet.

* * *

Prowl finally stumbled out of the medbay, pace unsteady as he fought with his dignity and the simple need to run from the source of all evil that masqueraded as the Autobot's Chief Medical Officer.

Clearly, he and Prime had organized their ranks wrong. They could have won this war a lot faster if they'd simply strapped Ironhide's cannons to Ratchet and told the medic that all the Decepticons were glitches who refused to recharge or drink their energon, and slagged themselves with stupid stunts. They would have simply had to sit back and watch as Ratchet welded all of the Decepticons to their own recharge booths, and the war would have been over.

Jazz merely grinned as he watched Prowl stumble away, before turning to look at the medic with a raised browplate. "You musta been on a roll, Prowl usually ain't scared of ya."

Ratchet merely smirked as he looked up from polishing his tools. "Oh, I didn't do much, just repaired him and gave him some medical orders he needs to follow for the next human month."

"Oh? And what orders are those?" This was going to be good, Jazz just knew it.

The smug smirk evolved into a grin as Ratchet clacked the claws of the tool his hand was currently formed into together evilly. "Three words. Strictly. Monitored. Diet. Oh, and just..._suggestions_ of further actions I'll take to Optimus himself if he even thinks of disobeying them."

"Meaning ya threatened him with a whole lotta stuff ya can turn him into."

Ratchet made a happy noise that sounded almost like a purr. "I've always wanted to build a human washing machine."

* * *

Jazz grinned at him. Prowl glared right back.

The saboteur nudged a glowing cube towards him. "Doctor's orders, Prowl. Ya know ya gotta."

The tactician directed his glare towards the cube. "This is ridiculous. I don't need refueling for at least another human week."

"So ya wanna end up a Maytag front-loader? Ratchet's got the model all picked out an' ready."

Prowl grabbed the cube in a hurry as Jazz gave in and laughed himself silly.

* * *

Because Prowl would be the sort to work himself into a energy-deprivation shutdown. Ratchet does not approve of this.

* * *


End file.
